


Stan's First Ride

by Anglephile



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, biker, first time on a motorcycle, motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglephile/pseuds/Anglephile
Summary: You're showing off on your motorcycle, and accidentally make Stan spill his coffee. Feeling guilty, you offer to take him on a ride to get a new one. Thing is, it's his first time. Good thing you're there to guide him through it!





	1. Hold on tight

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty self indulgent. Full disclosure, I come from a family of bikers, and it took me quite a while to realize that not everyone grows up riding motorcycles. Then I wondered when Stan would have had the chance, and who would have been around to teach him. So, I thought you could. It'll be fun. Promise.

He's been eyeing it every morning. By the second week, he still hasn't said anything, but you can't take the heated looks of desire mixed with curiosity much longer. If only he would look at you like that. You suppose he sort of is, but it's what between your legs he's focused on. Since you started working there, you've been taking your old Triumph motorcycle back and forth to the Shack, and Stan only takes his eyes off it when you catch him staring. Then he turns away red in the cheeks, coughing into his fist and mumbling about a "deathtrap." 

He's sitting on the bottom step of the Shack when you ride up, steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He's obviously just out here for the peace and quiet, not waiting for a glimpse of your classic cherry red motorcycle. Nope. The Shack is a real madhouse what with, ya know, breakfast and all. Ahem. When you notice his head turned slightly away, pretending like he's not watching from the corner of his eye, you decide to play with him a little. You gun it, opening the throttle with a guttural roar, and aim right for him. He turns towards you, eyes wide in shock as you pull to a sudden stop right between his legs, back tire rising a good foot in the air and holding there. You grin wickedly at him.

"Heya, Mr. Mystery."

You set the back tire down softly. His hand hovers over his heart, chest heaving as he stutters a gruff "S-sweet Moses, kid." Heh. You certainly got his attention. You turn off your bike, and lean back smugly. He regains his composure as the twins fly out the door. Mabel runs up to the both of you with a plate of cupcakes. Dipper scampering close behind trying to grab one. 

"Cupcakes for breakfast!" she declares proudly. "Great Uncle Ford says it's unhealthy, but they're basically muffins with frosting. And glitter."

"Mabel, muffins aren't healthy either." Dipper counters, snagging one regardless.

"Sugar is from a plant. It's nature at it's best."

"No way, man. You're thinking of chocolate." You say, helping yourself to a chocolate cupcake with rainbow sprinkles.

"I don't think either of those are very healthy." Dipper furrows his brow. "Grunkle Stan, why is your coffee all over the ground?"

Stan freezes, pink glitter cupcake halfway to his mouth. "Hotshot over here thought it would be funny to run me over! If I didn't have the sense to jump outta the way, I would've lost more than my coffee!" 

He ends his story with a grumpy pout, frowning at you menacingly. The effect was somewhat negated by a smear of pink frosting on his chin. Dipper clues him in with a subtle tap on his own face. Mabel giggles, used to Stan retelling stories with more fiction than fact. As Stan wipes off the frosting that matches the blush creeping up his ears, you grimace at your cupcake. You hadn't actually meant to make Stan spill his coffee, and feel kind of bad. That is no way to start a day. Maybe there's a way you can make it up to him.

"Alright, Stan, get on." 

You shove the last of the cupcake in your mouth and right the handlebars of your bike, scooting it so you're next to the porch instead of facing it.

Stan blinks at you.

"...Whaddya mean, kid?"

"I'm gonna buy you a coffee." You pat the seat behind you. "Get on."

"Um...I'm not about to get on that death machine. 'Sides, I got too much to do around here." He scratches the back of his neck, and shifts a little on the step. "...Attractions to finish up..."

"Grunkle Stan, you have to! You would look so cool!" Dipper chimed in.

"Oooh, that's so nice! Make sure you bring him back before lunch."

"Hey! Don't I get a say in this?" 

"I can always take one of the kids. Who wants to ride on the back holding a hot cup of coffee for your Grunkle?"

Stan panics at your suggestion, waving his hands to stop the twins from running over. You smile, relaxing back. You knew that would get a reaction. He gives you a dirty look, and crosses him arms.

"Fine. But if we end up in a ditch, I'm gonna haunt you good!"

He stands with an exaggerated groan, and meanders to your side. You get distracted by a splat, and watch Dipper and Mabel spontaneously duel with cupcakes. Dodge, block, jab, smear. Chuckling, you turn back to Stan, expecting him to share your mirth, but he's just standing there looking like a deer in the headlights. One hand hovers somewhere near your shoulder like he wants to use you for balance, but isn't sure that's the right move. 

"If you're scared, you don't have to." You mumble, voice low.

"Scared?" he says too loudly, then drops his voice back to normal. "I'll have you know I've done much scarier things in my life than grabbing coffee."

"...You gonna get on, then?"

He stiffens for a moment; you called his bluff. Gathering his courage, he uses you for purchase, and swings his leg over the back. He settles, hands on his thighs, and raises his eyebrows expectantly. You slowly turn forward, not entirely convinced of his bravado, and start your bike back up. The sudden vibration makes Stan jump, and you turn back around giving Stan a look.

"Okay, Stan, seriously. This was supposed to be fun for you. Would you rather stay here?"

"...S'my first time." he mutters, blushing and looking anywhere but your face. "I always wanted to, ever since I was a kid, I just...never got the chance."

You nod thoughtfully. You had been born into a family of bikers, so it took you until high school to really grasp that not everyone instinctually knew how to ride. He coughs, staring over your shoulder looking for all the world like a little kid waiting for the roller coaster to start moving. Scared, determined, excited, but mostly scared. You grab the handle bars, and speak over your shoulder.

"Well, first you have to hold on. Gimme a hug, I don't bite. Much."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, expelling some of that nervous energy, and cinches his arms around your waist. An unexpected thrill rips through you. His chest flush against your back, his thighs gripping yours as though he thinks your going to take off like a shot any second. This time it was your turn to blush. He was so solid and warm; that's going to feel nice when you get moving, it's a brisk morning. 

"That's, uh, that's good. Now the only way were going to crash," he startles at that, "is if you fight me, so move with me. It's like slow dancing."

"N-no problem, toots."

You smirk, and reach back to give his thigh a playful squeeze. "Be a good boy, and I'll let you drive us back."


	2. Confession Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's first ride, and second breakfast. You come clean about an issue involving your riding experience.

A clunk, and a drop in the idle announces the shift into first gear. Careful not to spook him anymore than he already is, you pull out nice and smooth. At the end of the parking lot you pause, look both ways, and cautiously turn out onto the road. Your jaw clenches. If Stan doesn't lean with you, you're going to end up in a ditch. It takes him a second to catch on that that's what you meant when you wanted him to move with you, but he does. Oh, thank God. You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and shift into second.   
Opening up a little, you fly down the road, turning in graceful arcs as the highway demands. It's chilly; the pines, the dew, and all that fresh air whipping up a perfect storm of fresh life. Another shift into third. Faster still. The wind a cold kiss on your cheeks. You almost forget he's there, and accelerate into a sweeping turn that makes you lean nice and low. That point of balance, that hint of danger relaxes and centers you more than coffee ever could. A warm breath mumbles something harsh against your neck, and arms tighten around your stomach. Oops. Was that too much? Heat flushes your face, and you slow down, straightening out. Feeling more than a little awkward, you pull timidly into the parking lot of Greasy's Diner, and turn off your bike. You cough into your fist.

"Okay. Let's, uh, get you that coffee."

You hold the bike steady while Stan unwinds his arms, and clambers off. Folding the kickstand down, you follow suit, pocketing the keys. Stan is staring down the road, hand on the back of his neck, as if he couldn't believe that he just made it down here the way he did. 

"Stan?"

He turns to you with a boyish grin.

"That was really something, kid. C'mon, let's get some grub."

You wander into Greasy's behind Stan. You're pretty sure you said "coffee" not "second breakfast" but he's holding the door for you with a trace of that stupid grin still lingering on his face. Alright, fine. You're such a pushover. You claim a stool next to Stan at the counter, and unzip your jacket, trying to get comfortable as Lazy Susan pours the coffee. Stan banters cheerfully with Susan before ordering for both of you; you're getting pancakes, too, apparently. 

"Here I am taking you out, buying you breakfast...if I didn't know better, I'd say this was a date." You tease, making Stan snort into his coffee.

"You should be so lucky, toots! I was considered quite the catch in my time!"

"Wish I could've been there to see the dinosaurs."

He guffaws good-naturedly. 

"Feisty. I like it!"

You chuckle weakly. Your hand trembles when you reach for your coffee, and you shake it out with a frown. Everything went fine. You don't know why you can't get the message through to the rest of your body. Stan catches the slight tremor of your fingertips, and rubs the back of his neck. 

"Somethin' wrong, toots?"

"Confession time, I guess." You clear your throat, and look away for a moment. "That was my first time, too. I've never had a passenger before. How'd--How'd I do?"

"Oh, uh, fine, fine." He eyebrows rose up into his forehead at the new information. He leans on the counter, and shoots you another grin. "Only thought I was gonna die once!"  
"Maybe I just wanted you hold me closer?" you reply saucily. Stan's grin stays in place, but you see his cheeks turn pink. Susan swings by to drop the pancakes, and the conversation lulls while you dig in. You run a hand through your hair. "Nah, you did good, too. I thought for sure I didn't explain myself well enough, or you would panic, and we would end up riding through the woods...You laugh, but I've seen it happen!"

"Kid, I'm too old to start panicking now." Stan laughed easily, and finished his second breakfast.

"Good to know, cause you're driving us back."

"What?!" he yelped, causing more than a few patrons to look up.

You waggled you eyebrows at him. "I promised, didn't I?"

Shoving the last of your pancakes in your mouth, you drop a handful of bills on the counter, and give Stan a playful shove on the shoulder. 

"C'mon. I want to squeeze the life outta you for a change."

"Toots, if ya wanted to cuddle, all ya had to do was say so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else wondering how Stan's going to do? If it's anything like my first time, Stan, I'm so sorry.


	3. You make good on your promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan takes you for a ride, and it's time for the Shack to open.

Sunlight glinted off the cherry red gas tank, reflecting upwards to illuminate the broad chest posed overhead. Strong arms reached around to grip the handle bars with forced confidence. He nodded his head, looking thoughtful as you pointed out what lever did what action, what sequence to do it in, and if he only remembered one thing, grab the clutch! Going too fast, clutch. Ready to shift, clutch. Panic attack, clutch! He looked at you over his glasses, and arched an eyebrow. 

"Would I lie to you?" You clap a hand on his shoulder. "If you let the clutch fly, so will the bike. It will take off, pop a wheelie, shoot for the horizon, and we'll never see it again...Okay, I exaggerated. We'll see it. Probably wrapped around a tree. But, hey, maybe you'll grab the clutch."

You release his shoulder, and saunter to the back of the bike.

"Kid, you might be putting a little too much faith in me, here."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He whips his head around, eyes narrowing as you continue. "I hear Manly Dan's good with his hands. Maybe I should go back in there, and get him to take me for a ride."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm twice as good with my hands as he is!"

"I think you're gonna have to prove it." 

Using him for balance, you swing you leg over the back. His breath catches in his throat as you snake your arms around his prominent middle. He smells good; like crushed evergreens, burnt sugar, and faded cologne. His shoulders were so broad from this angle you wondered if you were even visible from the other side. Pressed up against his back, thighs wrapped intimately around his. You smirked to yourself. This was definitely one of the main reasons motorcycles were better than cars. He's staring determinedly forward, cheeks getting pinker by the moment.

"Start 'er up, babe."

The engine grumbles to life, and you feel his muscles tense. He shifts into first with his foot. So far, so good.

"Just like we talked about it. Give it some gas, and sloowly let out the clutch."

The idle got a little louder as he followed your instructions.

"More."

"We're not even movin' yet!"

"Okay, try it your way, then."

He grumbled and shifted in his seat. The idle rose by a hair, and you smiled. This was about to get interesting. He swallowed thickly, and released the clutch. Ker-klunka! The bike jumped forward, and died immediately. A small "oof!" escaped as you were slammed up against his back from the sudden stop. Chuckling at the low stream of curses muttered under his breath, you notice his hands.

"Hey! You grabbed the clutch!"

"Yeah, great! The bike is dead, but, hey, at least I grabbed the clutch!" Sarcasm drips from his words as he sulks, too afraid to let go of the controls to add the hand gestures you know he won't feel complete without.

"Eh. So, you stalled it. That's better than my first time."

He glances up at you for a moment before turning away, still red from embarrassment. Oh, damn it. You cave, and the words fall from your lips in a self conscious rush. "I let the clutch fly, and it bucked like a bronco, okay? If my dad wasn't there to grab the clutch in mid wheelie, I don't know what would've happened."

A snort of laughter rumbles through his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, Hotstuff. Just start it up, and try again, huh? At this rate, we'll make it back in time for breakfast tomorrow."

"So demanding! Don't worry, Toots. I'll get you back before your bedtime."

He starts the bike up like before, and remembering your gentle prod of "more" he beefs up the throttle. You snuggle up close, and hold tight. The idle drops, and this time the clutch bites. The bike crawls forward, and you give a congratulatory whoop. You feel more than hear his delighted laugh; a shaky rumble that rolls through his chest. It's wobbly at first, but soon enough he's got the hang of it. He inches out of the parking lot, and pulls out onto the road. Luckily, there's no traffic this early in the morning as you're not exactly flying. Listening to the engine gradually get louder, you pat his left thigh.

"Up one, get it into second."

"R-right."

There's a clunk and the idle drops as he shifts obediently. The bike growls as he opens up the throttle a little more. Now, we're talking! His shoulders relax under your touch. Now that you're up to speed, he's getting into it, and melting into the sweeping turns you love so much. You hum contentedly into the back of his neck, and move with him as he takes the lead. He's a natural. The pines pass in a blur of verdant mist, cool air that hasn't burnt off with the morning sun. The heat from Stan's body keeps you warm, and you hope you return the favor wrapped as you are around his sturdy frame.

Too soon, you arrive back at the Shack. Mabel rushes out of the door, she must've been watching for you, and is quickly followed by Dipper, and, at a more leisurely pace, Ford. Stan pulls up along side the Shack, listening to your muttered instructions over his shoulder to down shift and turn it off. The second the wheels stop turning Mabel is bouncing around the two of you firing questions left and right as you dismount.

"How exciting was it, on a scale of coin operated train to roller coaster theme park?"

"Are you a biker now? Did you join a motorcycle gang?"

Stan groans as he swings he leg over, partly from stiff joints and partly from the bombardment of questions.

"Mabel, pumpkin, let a man catch his breath first."

Mabel spins on her heel to face you instead, and looks deep into your eyes as she bubbles over with enthusiasm. She practically sparkles.

"Can I ride next? Ooo, can I drive?"

You open your mouth to answer the question directed at you, and Ford apparently doesn't like the devilish look on your face because he jumps in between you two before you can get a word out.

"I hardly think that's a good idea given your size. You would have some degree of trouble reaching the controls, don't you think?"

Her face drops for a brief moment, but bounces back immediately.

"That's okay! I'll ride on the back! We'll be the first family biker gang! Grunkle Stan can take me, and Grunkle Ford, you can take Dipper! At least, until we're tall enough to get our own bikes..." she trails off, missing the way Ford blanches.

You sidle up to Ford with a sly look in your eyes.

"Wanna go for a ride?" 

He startles, and backpedals quickly, tripping over your bike in the process. Catching himself on the gas tank he stays bent backwards over the bike, hands splayed like he was a criminal caught sneaking out the back door. Leaning in close, you meet his wide eyed stare, and wiggle your eyebrows. His mouth opens and closes a few times before Stan glances over, and snickers.

"Throwing yourself over the bike's a little forward, don't ya think, Sixer?"

"I, uh--I-I didn't mean--" He stutters, cheeks turning pink at you and Stan's teasing before he composes himself. He clears his throat. "I apologize. I forgot you were standing behind me, and I reacted poorly."

"...Don't worry about it." You arch an eyebrow. This man was so unusual. Not at all as easy going as his brother. But, they might have one thing in common, you thought as you saw his gaze linger on the motorcycle. "I'll catch you next time."

Ford's eyes flicked up to yours, searching your face for something before Stan interrupts with an urgent announcement.

"Sweet Moses! A tour bus is pulling in! Places, people! We got rubes to fleece!" He grabs your shoulder as you hustle past on your way to the gift shop. "Hey, uh, thanks for the ride today. You didn't really have to do that, but I--uh, I'm glad that you did."

He pats your shoulder one last time giving you a fond smile, and turns around abruptly, straightening his tie. The corner of your mouth tugs upward into a smile of your own. The tips of his ears were bright pink. Maybe this job was going to be more fun than you thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should Ford get a ride, too? Let me know, yea or nay. Seeing some yea faces over here...


End file.
